Five More Minutes
by smc-27
Summary: LP Futurefic told in five minute intervals. "She kisses him and he tastes like her breakfast and coffee and the banana he just took a bite of. She loves him in the mornings. All the time. Whenever." Completely fluffy oneshot.


**A/N:** This is a totally pointless and fluffy piece of writing. Basically, it's the lives of an older LP, told through five minute intervals. They don't have kids; details of that are explained within.

**----**

_**Thursday, 7:02-7:07 a.m.**_

She wakes up to the harsh sounds of her alarm clock. Well, his alarm clock. She prefers the radio to play, but it doesn't wake him up, so they use the beep instead. She hates it, but waking up is waking up and it sucks no matter what makes you do it. She reaches across his body, since he's still half-asleep, and switches off the incessant beeping. When she tries to move back to her side of the bed, he grasps her clumsily as his eyes open.

"Mmm," he mumbles. He runs his hands up and down her arms as she lays half on top of him.

She loves his sexy morning voice and how disoriented he always seems to be. Somehow, he looks at her a little differently right after he's woken up; like he's trying to figure out if she's really there or something. He doesn't smile until his eyes are all the way open. He takes deep breaths and usually toys with one of the articles of clothing she wears. She thinks it's adorable how messy his hair is and how he's groggy until he has either had a shower or a cup of coffee.

He leans up and brushes his lips against hers, and a little more of her weight falls atop him. She can't resist him and she doesn't even bother trying anymore. Her hand slips beneath the cotton tee shirt he wears, and he moans when her cold fingers hit his skin. She laughs an apology against his lips, and he rolls them over so they're both on their sides facing one another. He holds her close as they kiss for a little bit. Just kiss.

This is how they say good morning.

_**Thursday, 7:38-7:43 a.m.**_

He always lets her shower first, since she takes longer at, well, everything. She's got quite a little routine. Shower, blow dry, makeup, clothes. By the time she's back in the kitchen to get breakfast, he's done his shower and gotten dressed. He puts on the coffee while she showers, and it's ready for them when they're both ready for it. One day she poured a cup before he was in the kitchen with her, and he pouted about it until she kissed him in apology.

Not that that was the worst debt she'd ever had to pay.

He's pulling his grey polo shirt over his head when he steps into the kitchen, and she's toasting a bagel as she listens to the morning show on the local radio station. Their two mugs are sitting by the coffee maker, so Lucas starts pouring. It all sounds a little predictable and mundane, but they love it.

Lucas walks to the fridge an opens the door and he glances over at her, but her back is turned to him. "Hmm."

"What?" she asks.

"We're out of 2%," he says. He drinks 2%, she drinks 1%. She always forgets to pick his milk up at the grocery store.

"Dammit. I'm sorry," she says, turning to him. She looks adorably apologetic, and he walks over, hands her the carton of milk for her coffee, and kisses her forehead. He sits down next to her, and she sheepishly says, "I forgot."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." He takes a sip of his coffee - black - and she tilts her head at him.

"Can't you just put like, twice the amount of 1% in or something?" she suggests, making him laugh.

"Doesn't work that way, babe," he tells her. He reaches for one half of the bagel on the plate in front of her and takes a bite.

"That's mine!"

"_You_ forgot my milk." His mouth is full and she pulls a face.

"I have to go to the grocery store after work anyway. I don't know why I can never remember that, though," she says, more to herself than to him.

"You just don't think about me enough," he teases. He smiles at her dropped jaw.

"Trust me, that's not the problem," she insists quietly. He knows that tone of voice.

"Is that right?" He leans across the table and she rests her hand on his cheek.

"Mhmm."

She kisses him and he tastes like her breakfast and coffee and the banana he just took a bite of. She loves him in the mornings.

All the time.

Whenever.

_**Thursday, 8:25-8:30 a.m.**_

He can't stop thinking about her words. He wonders how much she really thinks of him. A lot, he assumes. She's probably just gotten to her office, which means she's probably just catching sight of the framed photo of the two of them on her desk. She's probably smiling and little smile she has.

He's been zoning out for the past 10 minutes, and Skills is practically running this entire scrimmage, but Lucas is too busy being curious about his wife to think of much else.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and keys out a message to her. He knows she doesn't like to be bothered until she's settled at her office for the day and had a few minutes to work out her schedule. He thinks she might not mind if he's the one 'distracting' her.

_How much?_ he asks.

_What?_ Comes her reply moments later.

_Do you think of me?_

_Constantly._

_Really?_ He ignores the glare he's getting from Skills, and just shrugs his shoulders. He won't apologize for talking to Peyton. Ever. He never has.

_Leave me alone! I'm busy._

She laughs to herself in her office. She's got a hectic day, and he should know that. She just can't say no to a little flirtation with him, and that's often the best part of her day. She doesn't want to do work instead of talking to him, which is why she usually tells him not to call her until noon. She'll tell him that she needs the time alone, but it's because skipping work is all too tempting every time she hears his voice.

_Love you._ He writes back.

_Love you too. See you tonight. _

_Don't forget my milk. _

He closes his phone just _knowing_ that she'll forget. She always does. He finds it hilarious, actually, and a little endearing. She remembers almost everything. She's incredibly organized, and she keeps the house almost immaculate. She can't, for the life of her, remember to buy his milk. He loves that she has a flaw.

And sometimes it's fun to hold it over her head like it bothers him, though they both know it doesn't really matter at all.

_**Thursday, 12:52-12:57 p.m.**_

His mother calls him just as he's finished tidying the kitchen from breakfast and lunch. He wipes his hands on a tea towel he has draped over his shoulder, and he listens to her talk about Alaska, where she's docked for a few days with Andy and Lily.

He smiles as soon as she asks about Peyton, just like he does almost any time someone says her name. It's a little childish and perhaps completely unnecessary, but he can't find any legitimate reason to care. He wonders if she does the same thing when she hears his name.

He talks for a few minutes before Karen's reception starts wavering, and she tells him she loves him and she'll see him in a few weeks when the stop in Tree Hill for a while. He laughs when she tells him to hug Peyton for them. They all know he doesn't need a reason to hug his wife.

_**Thursday, 6:55-7:00 p.m.**_

The sky is purple in their little town by the time she pulls into the driveway, and she realizes that she barely saw sunlight at all that day. She was in her office all day, so busy with work that she couldn't even think of leaving. Instead of going out for lunch and a short walk like she usually does, she sent her assistant out to pick up lunch and run her errands.

And now the evening is half over already.

She stopped at the store for groceries, just like she said she would. For some reason, this Thursday after 6:00 was the busiest she'd ever seen that store. It seemed everyone ran out of milk at the same time.

Now, she's not impatient, per say. She wouldn't have minded standing there reading trashy tabloid headlines and waiting to have her purchases checked out. The thing about a small town is that everyone knows everyone, so she was roped into four painfully similar conversations with four different people. Her cheeks hurt from all the fake smiling.

She sits in her SUV for a moment after she cuts the engine, and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She's made it this far, but those last few steps to the front door look a lot like Mt. Everest right now.

But she opens the car door and slings her purse over her shoulder, sets her throbbing feet on the asphalt and heads around the back of the vehicle to gather the bags of groceries to take into the house.

And as soon as she opens the lift, half the items she'd purchased come tumbling out onto the driveway.

She almost cries. She really does.

The front door opens, and there stands her husband with a smirk - the one she'd normally love - firmly in place on his lips. She turns her head and looks at him, and before they've even said a word, he can see it all, right there in those green eyes.

She's had a hard day.

She's tired.

She doesn't want to talk about it.

Don't say anything about the food laying in the driveway halfway to the street.

He walks up to her and places his hand at the small of her back, kisses her temple, and starts looking through the bags in the car.

"Take this," he says, handing her the carton of double chocolate ice cream. He jerks his head in the direction of the door and winks at her. "Go on."

She smiles at him gratefully and lets out a breath before heading into the house.

_That's_ why she loves him.

_**Thursday, 7:08-7:13 p.m.  
**_

As he's putting away the groceries, she sits on the sofa with her ice cream, already having changed into her pajamas, and he listens to her laughing at whatever show she's watching. He loves to hear her laugh, especially now, when it's obvious that she's in a less than stellar mood.

He had a meeting at the school, and he's got pages due, so she understood why he couldn't run the few errands that needed to be done, but he still feels a little guilty. He doesn't want her to ever feel like she's got to do everything alone, and while they generally split the duties, he feels bad when he can't - or sometimes just doesn't - pull his weight.

As he's emptying the last bag and surveying the contents of the fridge, he chuckles softly to himself and shakes his head.

There's no 2%. He doesn't say a word.

_**Thursday, 9:16-9:21 p.m.  
**_

He explained that he was on a roll with the pages he's been writing, and so she stays sprawled out on the sofa with her ice cream keeping her company - she can't even find it in her to care about the calories today - while he types away in the office they share.

It's the master bedroom of the house they've lived in together for the past seven years. Well, he's lived there most of his life, and she moved in just before they were married. That 'office' has got two desks and the room is divided almost in half. Her desk is an avant guard brushed steel, and his is a stained pine. Her chair is large and ergonomic, and his is a simple leather chair with no arms. His desk is covered in loose paper with his notes and ideas scribbled on them, and her is covered in post-its and CDs and photo proofs for her artists.

It's a little manic. But it's theirs.

That room was supposed to be a nursery. That was what they'd always said. But after trying for years, they couldn't get pregnant, and then there were tests and all sorts of poking and prodding that resulted in the painful explanation that they'd simply never get pregnant. They could have tried fertility treatments or artificial insemination, but it was explained that the odds for even those treatments were slim to none, based on the results of those tests.

They just weren't meant to have a baby, no matter how hard that was to come to terms with.

They've got two nephews they can spoil, and they've got Brooke and Julian's four year old daughter to spoil, and that's just fine with them for now.

They've talked about adopting, but have yet to make any decisions. They're still young, but they've each settled into their careers. He's still coaching, and is in the process of writing his fourth novel, and she's running a wildly successful record label. Her company, in the last few years, has gone from just herself and her ambition, to 10 full time employees.

They've got plenty of money. They've got more money than they need, in fact, and even if Lucas' first novel hadn't almost been made into a major motion picture - which he was still paid handsomely for - they still would have been fine.

They looked at buying a new house, or building a new house, but they decided mutually that they loved their little home, and just because they could have gotten something bigger, that didn't necessarily mean that they should.

So they live together the same way they always did, though Lucas seems to buy a new car each time he publishes a new novel. Peyton insists they don't need the five vehicles they have - two of those sitting in a garage at the edge of town. Peyton's got the SUV she bought last year after her car broke down, but neither of them were ready to give that old car up. It still runs, but they only drive it now when they're feeling sentimental. Lucas still drives the Mustang, but bought a little Audi 'just for fun', and a classic Charger that he insists he'll get around to fixing up. It sits in that garage across town next to the Comet, it's engine hanging from the roof of the structure and waiting to be worked on.

It's quite a life they have. And they love it. They really do.

But sometimes Peyton feels like it's so completely different from where she thought she'd be. What she's realized time and time again in her life, is that just because things don't turn out the way you thought they might, doesn't mean that you can't love the way they do turn out.

Lucas walks into the living room with his arms stretched over his head, his back and shoulders no doubt tight from spending almost his whole day hunched over his computer.

"Nice hair, babe," Peyton giggles.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror in the hallway, and attempts to tame his short hair that's spiking out in every direction. "Thanks," he mutters before flopping down on the sofa next to her. "You okay? Sorry I..."

"Don't apologize," she insists, smiling at him as she runs her fingers through his hair. It's not only an affectionate touch, it's a necessary one, and when he raises his eyebrow and looks at her from the corner of his eye, she just winks at him.

"Are you alright?" he asks knowingly.

He glances briefly to the television screen and notices she's watching an episode of Dawson's Creek on DVD that he knows one of the other girls lent her, and he resists the urge to laugh. She, Haley and Brooke are obsessed with the old teen drama, and Lucas, Nathan and Julian can only shake their heads.

"I'm fine," she says. It's not a lie. Suddenly, with him sitting next to her, nothing else seems to matter as much. "Wanna watch this with me?"

"Not even a little bit," he says with a laugh. "But I want to sit here with you, so...whatever you want is just fine."

"You're kind of charming, Lucas Scott," she says, grinning at him as he drapes his arm around her.

"More charming than your other boyfriends?"

"By a mile," she says, and he leans over and kisses her gently. "Know what would be nice?"

"What's that?"

"A massage."

"Oh really," he says, his voice dropping an octave.

"_Just_ a massage," she says, laughing at his ability to make everything seem like it's heading somewhere. She sits on the floor between his knees and pulls her hair up into a ponytail, held in place by the elastic that was sitting on her wrist.

Truthfully, she loves that he still wants her so badly, so often. They act like teenagers sometimes, and they don't care when their friends point it out. The way they see it, they'd rather show too much affection than not enough.

"We'll see," he says as begins rubbing her shoulders.

_**Thursday, 11:42-11:47 p.m.**_

It didn't take long after he started massaging her shoulders to get her to change her mind. Granted, he used some dirty tactics he knew she couldn't resist. He slipped the straps off her camisole - the blue satin one that he loves so much - under the guise that it was easier to give her 'the best massage' if he had access to her bare skin. He knew she didn't buy it for a second, but she didn't say anything, which in his mind was a green light. He'd slid off the couch so she was settled back against his chest with his arms around her, kissing her neck and smirking to himself as her breathing grew laboured.

When she stood from her place and walked away from him, he was about to ask what was wrong, but he looked over just in time to see her smiling seductively and pulling that camisole over her head, dropping it on the floor outside their bedroom door.

Now she's laying in his arms, tracing her initials on his chest and thinking he doesn't notice. She's got one leg slung over his, brushing against his body in a way that he's certain he'll never grow complacent to, and her hair is a wild disaster that he's absolutely proud of.

"I want ice cream," she says out of nowhere.

"Didn't you already have ice cream?" he asks, chuckling at her.

"So? I want more," she states. He moves to get up - he'll get her anything she wants - but she drapes her arm over his stomach, clinging to him desperately so he can't move. "Don't."

"You're a little indecisive, aren't you?" he teases.

"Maybe?" she jokes, scrunching her nose in a way that makes him have to kiss it. "I don't want you to move. I like it like this."

"Me too, babe," he says softly, kissing her hair as she rests her head against him again.

"I could stay like this forever."

"Forever?" he asks. "Like this?"

"Mhmm."

"What about work? Or our friends?" he inquires, curious to hear her answer.

"They aren't as good in bed as you are," she says teasingly, and he laughs.

He's about to say something about her not knowing that, but he has to stop himself. Half of their closest friends, she'd know about. It's something he's gotten over, the fact that she's been with both her best friend's husbands, since it's ancient history. It's not like they were some kind of tawdry affairs, she had relationships with them.

And she married _him_. He knows he's got nothing to worry about.

"Hey Peyt?" he says after a few moments. She mumbles something, and he knows she's falling asleep. He doesn't want her to.

He doesn't say anything more. He moves his hand over her thigh and her eyes open just before he kisses her with all the desire he's feeling. He can't get enough of her, and she'll never complain about it.

At this rate, she knows they'll both be completely exhausted tomorrow, but it won't be the first time. Her assistant will laugh and smile at her knowingly, and she'll blush and stride into her office like she doesn't need to dignify any of it. Lucas will call her at 10:30 and tell her he's been thinking about her all morning.

It's all so predictable. She loves every second.

_**Friday, 7:00-7:05 a.m.**_

"I don't want to," she says petulantly, her eyes still closed as Lucas tries to wake her. He'd shut off the alarm, knowing she hates the thing, and decided to wake her on his own. "Your fault," she mumbles into her pillow.

"You weren't complaining," he laughs.

"Shut up. I hate you."

"I don't think so, babe," he says, enough of a mocking tone in his voice to let her know that he doesn't believe her for a second, and she'll never get away with making those words sound like the truth.

"Leave me alone," she whines.

"You're being childish." He smiles to himself. He knows insulting her will get her moving, and it's easier to sooth her after a harmless comment is easier than trying to rouse her out of bed.

"You're being a jerk," she insists, finally opening her eyes, only to glare at him. "Make me coffee."

"I already did," he tells her.

"What?" she asks. Her tone has softened and she's pulling the sheet up around her chest when she realizes she's still undressed. "How long have you been awake?"

"A while." He shrugs his shoulders and she shakes her head. "Come on. Time to get up."

"You're cheery this morning. I don't like it," she grumbles, making him laugh.

She stands up, yanking the sheet from the bed so she can walk down the hall with it wrapped around her. She knows it drives him crazy. Not only is he the one who always has to make the bed, but she's so damn gorgeous wrapped in that off-white linen, that it always makes him want to just pull her back into the bedroom.

"Luke?" she calls from the end of the hall. He walks out of the bedroom to look at her, and she's very loosely clutching the fabric to herself. It's not doing much to cover her. "Have you showered yet?"

There's a glint of something sexy in her eyes, and he's walking towards her as he pulls his shirt over his head. It wouldn't matter if he had 10 showers, he'd still follow her into the bathroom after all that her question implied.

_**Friday, 9:33-9:38 a.m.**_

She's late for work, but she doesn't care.

Her assistant looks at her like there's no secrets, and Peyton just rolls her eyes, but doesn't say a word. She walks into her office, and she's no sooner set down her bag and turned on her computer than her phone is ringing.

She looks at the name on the screen and smiles. Apparently, Lucas' call is coming earlier than usual.

"You're making me crazy, and you aren't even here," he states as soon as she's said hello.

"Sorry, honey."

"No you aren't," he says with a laugh.

"Not really," she admits. "Go. Write. I'll see you later."

"I can't concentrate."

"Take a cold shower," she teases.

"Well, our shower did turn pretty cold near the end..." he says, and she can hear him smirking.

"Lucas!" she hisses. "I'm hanging up."

"It's your fault if I never write another word," he tells her. "You'll have to be my sugar mama."

"As long as you keep looking like you do and treating me like you do, I'm okay with that," she says, her voice soft though her door is closed.

He takes a deep breath. He really is going crazy. "Come home now."

"Goodbye, Luke," she laughs. "I'll see you later."

"Fine," he pouts.

She hands up, shaking her head at how adorable he is when he doesn't get his way, but it's moments like that when she wonders what their kids would be like. Kids they'll never get to have. Would they pout and squint like him and cross their arms when they were mad the way she does? She tries not to think about it.

It's almost impossible not to sometimes.

_**Friday, 6:40-6:45 p.m.**_

"I hate these shoes!" she cries as soon as she's in the door.

He looks over just in time to see her kick off her heels and run her fingers tiredly through her hair, and she breathes a sigh of relief that her work week is finally over.

"You spent $300 on those shoes," he points out as she walks around the sofa and sits down, draping her legs over his lap. He instinctively starts rubbing her feet, smiling to himself when she closes her eyes and smiles.

"I shouldn't have," she says, and he chuckles.

"Rough day?"

"I really...sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking, starting this company," she explains.

"You were thinking you wanted to change someone's life through the perfect lyrics," he reminds her, smiling when she rolls her eyes playfully. "Why don't you take some time off? Play hooky with me someday."

"Tempting," she says, smiling sweetly at him. "But I have 10 employees who need the bitch boss there to actually motivate them to get anything done."

"You're not a bitch," he insists seriously.

"I really wish I could be," she says. "You know? Like they screw up and I just say it's okay, and tell them not to do it again. I should...It's just not easy."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No," she says, pulling her legs away from him and setting them on the ground. "I want to put on my pajamas and watch a basketball game with you."

"And there's my sexy wife," he says, leaning over to kiss her.

"What does that mean?"

"It means...you're the high powered label owner all day, and then you some home and drink beer with me and yell at the players on the screen," he says, and she laughs. That's kind of true. "It's sexy."

"That's the best part of my day," she says softly, pressing her lips to his once more.

"Mine too," he murmurs.

_**Friday, 6:47-6:52 p.m.**_

She slips out of the room, and as soon as she's in the bedroom, she throws her head back and groans. Lucas is an incredible man and a wonderful husband, but when he's writing, he has the tendency to be a complete slob. The bed is still unmade and there are clothes on the floor. There are hangers on the bed, and his wallet, phone and keys are sitting on the dresser - where she's asked him repeatedly not to leave them.

She takes a deep breath before pulling on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a plain black tee shirt. She pulls her hair up and drops her dirty clothes in the hamper, then surveys the room once more, trying not to let herself be angry.

It doesn't really work. She starts tidying up, and she hates every second of it

_**Friday, 7:13-7:18 p.m.**_

"What took so long?" he asks when she appears next to the sofa where he's sitting, watching the game that has just started. He's clueless, it's official.

"Luke, did you not _see_ the bedroom at all today?" she asks hotly, placing a hand on her hip.

"Umm..." He doesn't know how to answer. He has the distinct feeling that whatever he says will get him into trouble.

"I get that when you're writing, you're off in your own little world, but I don't like coming home to..."

"I know," he says softly, standing and kissing her gently. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think."

"Clearly," she mutters. He kisses her again, and she's pretty much already forgiven him. He holds his cold bottle of beer against her back, and she squeals and pushes him away. "Jackass," she says.

She hits his chest, but she's smiling. He loves that this is all it takes for them to resolve little arguments. He kisses her quickly again, and she rubs her lips gently when he pulls away.

"Let me get you a glass of wine," he says, and she can't help but smile.

"Beer," she corrects, and he winks before disappearing into the kitchen.

She smiles and sits down on the sofa, listening to the commentary of a game she knows Lucas cares about more than she does. He does so much for her - they do so much for each other - that maybe it all evens out.

_**Saturday, 1:46-1:51 p.m.**_

He watches her across the yard as she holds their eight-month-old nephew, Alex. She's got his little hand in hers as she laughs and says things to him that he's too young to comprehend. He laughs anyway, that adorable baby laugh, and she kisses his cheek. Lucas can't ignore the look of longing in her eyes, though he knows she'd deny it if he mentioned it. He knows how badly she wants to have children, and he hates that they can't get pregnant.

They're so compatible in every other possible way, and he wouldn't trade it for anything. He still feels guilty that they can't make things work in this one area, and that there's really nothing either of them can do about it.

She smiles when she catches him looking, and he smiles back. She knows him too well to not know what he was just thinking about.

_**Saturday, 2:22-2:27 p.m.**_

He's got Elizabeth in his arms while Julian and Brooke playfully argue about something or another, and he's making the little girl laugh by mocking her parents. He loves this girl. She's equal parts Brooke and Julian, and she's absolutely the sweetest little girl. She's got big brown eyes and shiny chocolate coloured hair and attitude to spare. But she's kind and gentle, just like her mother, and smart and quick like her father.

And she loves her uncle Lucas. None of them know why, but she's got a connection with him that they can't deny.

"Where's aunt Peyton?" Elizabeth asks Lucas. Her hand is resting on the back of his neck as she sits, perched on his arm. They're at this barbecue at Nathan and Haley's, and he lost sight of Peyton a few minutes ago when Elizabeth came running up to him.

"I'm not sure. Should we find her?" he asks.

"No," she answers quickly, shaking her head from side to side. "I don't wanna share with her."

"Share what?" he inquires, laughing a little.

"You, silly!" She giggles like it's the most hilarious thing in the world, and Lucas tickles her side in the way that he knows makes her squeal. "No! Lucas!"

He just laughs and continues making her laugh, and Brooke and Julian stop their pointless little spat long enough to smile at the sound of their daughter's giggles.

Peyton watches him from the window, Haley by her side, and she thinks that he's going to make an amazing father.

_**Saturday, 4:41-4:46 p.m.  
**_

As soon as they get home, they collapse onto the sofa, then laugh softly about how tiring it is to be in the sun all afternoon and playing with so many kids. Well, three kids. But those kids have a lot of energy.

Lucas pulls Peyton into his side and they sit there in the silence for a moment before she says what's been on her mind.

"I think we should adopt," she states with confidence.

He pulls away a bit so he can read her expression, and she's just as serious as she sounds. "Yeah?" he asks, smiling at her.

"Yeah," she almost whispers. "We need to have a baby around."

"We need to?"

"We'll be great parents," she says. She sounds so sure of it, and she should be, he thinks.

"We will be," he agrees. She smiles and leans forward to kiss him, and his hand gets all tangled in her hair in that perfectly messy way it always has. "You really want to adopt?" he asks, just to be sure.

"Lucas, we've got...Any baby we bring home is going to get more love than should be allowed," she says, making him smile and nod his head.

"We'll get the papers this week," he says softly. "What's got you bringing this up now?"

She weaves their fingers together, looks over at him and grins a little bit. "Seeing you with Elizabeth and Alex. And how you've always been with Jamie." He nods, almost solemnly. "You want to be a dad, and I want to be a mom."

"Kind of simple, isn't it?"

"Mhmm," she says, moving closer to him.

She wraps her arms around him while he reaches for the remote, and she doesn't say anything, but she thinks it's funny that they've just made this big decision on something they've talked about so many times before, and now they're just going to sit and watch television together for a while.

The easy part is over. They know it'll get harder. The thing with them is, they've been through so many difficult things that they're kind of experts at this point.

They don't take anything for granted. Not a single thing.

----

_**Tuesday, 3:14-3:19 a.m.**_

She leans against the door frame, watching as Lucas holds their daughter, speaking to her in a quiet whisper as he stares down at her.

She's a beautiful baby. She's four weeks old, and she's already got her parents wrapped around her little finger. She's got wispy blonde hair the colour of Lucas', and they have no idea what colour her eyes will be, but they don't care.

She's also loud, and she likes to get up in the middle of the night and wail until she's red in the face.

"Hey," Peyton says when Lucas turns around and sees her.

"I'm afraid to put her down," he says, stifling a laugh. "She cries every time I try."

"Here." Peyton walks over and takes Maya from Lucas, and the girl squirms a little, looks up at her mother, then closes her eyes tightly and drifts off. Peyton lays her down in her crib. Maya doesn't wake, and Lucas crosses his arms, looking defeated. "She just needed her mommy."

How can he pout when she says things like that?

"I can't blame her," he says quietly. He can't stop telling her how amazing she is with their baby.

"Give her time, Luke," Peyton requests, slipping her arms around him as soon as they're in the hall. "She loves you already, it's just not always easy."

"I know," he says. He smiles and kisses her gently. She always reassures him when he's pretending he doesn't need it. "Want to make out for five minutes, then go to sleep?"

She laughs as quietly as she can and asks, "why five minutes?"

"Because I'm exhausted, but I really, really want to keep kissing you."

She can't argue with his logic. They'll be tired anyway, they might as well take a little time. That's kind of been their philosophy all along. She's glad that even with all they've been through, they haven't lost sight of that.

She loves that he still tells her he wants to kiss her, even for five minutes, just because he _wants_ to.

_**-Fin-**_


End file.
